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What if a day, or a month, or a yeareCrown thy delights with a thousand sweet contentings?Cannot a chance of a night or an howreCrosse thy desires with as many sad tormentings? Fortune, honor, beauty, youth Are but blossoms dying; Wanton pleasure, doating love, Are but shadowes flying. All our joyes are but toyes, Idle thoughts deceiving; None have power of an howre In their lives bereaving.

Earthes but a point to the world, and a manIs but a point to the worlds compared centure:Shall then a point of a point be so vaineAs to triumph in a seely points adventure? All is hassard that we have, There is nothing biding; Dayes of pleasure are like streames Through faire meadowes gliding. Weale and woe, time doth goe, Time is ever turning: Secret fates guide our states, Both in mirth and mourning.

Yes, I remember you once mentioned Thomas Campion which led me to WIKI.

I didn't think of poetry while writing the post although on second thought it is obvious that such an image and the quotes should turn minds to the only thinkable alternative : Philosophie and/or poetry.

Since you chose this poem I guess it's the most appropriate one that goes along this Food for thought

Very beautiful indeed and alas with a 16th century flavor that cannot be rendered in another language.

All is hassard that we have,There is nothing biding;Dayes of pleasure are like streamesThrough faire meadowes gliding.Weale and woe, time doth goe,Time is ever turning:Secret fates guide our states,Both in mirth and mourning.

Don't you feel there's some kind of Indian (buddhism) echo in those lines?

"Floating down the stream of time from life to life with me;Makes no difference where you are or where you'd like to be"